


Thankful

by tariana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Fights, Gen, M/M, Medical Procedures, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tariana/pseuds/tariana
Summary: Sam takes care of Dean after a hunt.





	Thankful

Sam brakes too hard, and the Impala skids on the gravel in the parking lot. Dean slumps forward in the seat, head in hands, and groans. Sam figures he has one hell of a headache right about now.

No hospital, Sam knows that. He can stitch up the wound, if he needs to. He knows that, too. But there was a lot of blood coming from the wound on Dean's head, and the difference between knowing intellectually that head wounds bleed a lot and seeing the blood is quite striking.

Sam puts the car in park, then throws his door open and steps out. His leg almost creaks in protest, and he imagines it'll hurt like a bitch in the morning, but right now, there's no time to worry about himself. He's got to deal with Dean.

Sam opens Dean's door and catches him as he lurches sideways, trying to get out of the car. Dean is muttering the whole time, while Sam gets him standing, while Sam fumbles with the key and gets the door open. Sam nearly lets Dean fall shutting the door behind them, then catches him again and gets him shuffled over to the bed.

Dean sits heavily, almost falls really, and Sam goes to get the first aid kit. There's more than a few unorthodox things in there, thanks to their dad, but tonight, he doesn't need any of them -- just the basics -- needle, thread, antiseptic wash. Sam gathers the items, dumps them on the bed next to Dean, and goes to the bathroom, where he wets a washcloth, and brings it back into the main room. Dean's lying on his back, out again. Sam's pretty sure it isn't a concussion, but he thinks he'd better stay awake and make sure Dean's okay. Dean takes care of Sam. Sam takes care of Dean. It hasn't always been that way, but now it is.

The washcloth gets rid of most of the blood, and Sam soaks a gauze pad in antiseptic and presses it to the wound next. That wakes Dean up, and he comes up swinging and cursing. He clocks Sam a good one in the jaw, and Sam's head snaps back with the blow. Great, Sam thinks. Just what he needed – another sore place. He rubs his jaw, irritated, tired, and thinks for a second how nice it must be to be Dean sometimes – if you're angry, just hit something. Don't think. Just act. 

"Goddammit, Sam," Dean begins, then trails off with a groan as Sam presses the gauze against the cut again. Now that it's nearly clean, he can see it clearly, and it isn't as bad as he'd thought, as bad as he'd feared. It won't need stitches, and Sam breathes a sigh of relief. Of course he'd do it if he needed to. He's just glad he doesn't have to.

“Sorry,” Dean says.

“Shhh,” Sam replies, pushing his fingers through Dean's hair, feeling for other injuries. There's a bump, but not a big one, and no more cuts. Dean's eyes are clear and focused when Sam looks into them, and his speech isn't slurred when he repeats his apology. Sam's fear of a serious head injury slips away.

A bit of antiseptic cream, and a butterfly bandage to hold the edges of the cut together, and then the next few minutes are spent wrestling Dean out of his God-forsaken layers of clothing, down to just his t-shirt and underwear, and getting him settled in the bed. Dean falls asleep almost immediately, rolling onto his stomach and gripping his pillow tightly.

Sam moves around the motel room restlessly for a few moments, tired but not feeling he'll be able to sleep. He picks up Dean's clothes, puts the first aid kit back together, and checks the lock and chain on the door. He flips on the TV and mutes it, then channel surfs for a few minutes, but there's fuck-all on TV at this hour of the morning, anyway, and what there is is all terrible.

Sam shuts the TV off, wanders into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, splashes some water on his face, and strips down to his boxers and t-shirt. He finally gives up and figures he'll at least try to sleep.

He shuts off the lights, checks the door lock again, and pulls down the blanket on his bed. He climbs in and settles down, rustling the blankets around and messing with his pillow, trying to get comfortable. His leg hurts, and he's still keyed up. He stares at the ceiling for awhile, then shuts his eyes. He tries to relax, really concentrates on calming down, on finding sleep. Sleep doesn't come easily, but it does come, because the next thing Sam knows, he's awakened by Dean shoving him over. Sam moves backwards, onto the other side of the bed, and Dean flops down in the space Sam has just vacated, lying on his stomach, face turned away from Sam.

Sam rolls onto his side, tucking his arm under his head. Sam figures Dean's already back asleep, and Sam rearranges long legs, long arms, pillow, getting comfortable again, burrowing in.

He's nearly drifted off again when he hears, very quiet, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“It's sorta my job,” Sam says, because it is.

Dean doesn't say anything more, and Sam closes his eyes, letting sleep overtake him.

The next time he wakes, he has an armful of Dean. Sometime in the night, Dean's quite effectively pressed himself against Sam, slinging an arm across Sam's waist, tucking his head against Sam's shoulder. Dean's short hair tickles where it touches Sam, and Dean's face is relaxed in sleep.

It's starting to get light outside, and Sam supposes they really ought to get up, get moving, but he can't bring himself to wake Dean – and he doesn't want to get up, either, if he's honest with himself.

Sam pulls the blanket closer around them, studies Dean a moment longer, then presses a kiss to Dean's forehead. A surge of an emotion almost-but-not-quite like protectiveness swells in Sam's chest, and he pulls Dean closer to him. Then he settles back down to sleep awhile longer.

We'll be okay, Sam thinks, and before sleep claims him again, he smiles.

We'll be okay.


End file.
